


Not Another Alien Green Card Marriage

by crinklefries



Series: Not Another Avengers Romantic Comedy [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Adventures of Two Bored Millennial Municipal Employees, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Avengers Thor/Modern Loki, Best Friend Thottery, Captain America Steve Rogers/Modern Bucky Barnes, Fluff and Crack, Funny, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Humor, Loki and Bucky Best Friend Tour, Loki and Thor Are Not Related, M/M, Marriage of Convenience, Post-Avengers (2012), Thor is a Himbo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:40:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22601131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crinklefries/pseuds/crinklefries
Summary: “Dearly beloved,” the tired-looking court magistrate said. “We are gathered here today to join this man and this, uh, Norse God in holy...matrimony.”*The bifrost is broken and Thor is stranded on Earth, working for SHIELD without any authorized documents. Loki gets way too drunk and regrettably horny one night and offers to marry the big, dumb superhero for a green card.This turns out to be a mistake, because even though Thor is smoking hot, the Avengers keep breaking Manhattan, Loki’s apartment suffers an unfortunate setback, and the U.S. government requires way too much paperwork. Also, Loki hates his job and his best friend is in love with Captain America.This would only happen to him. Loki would take a nap, if anyone would goddamn let him. Instead, he gets bangs.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Loki/Thor
Series: Not Another Avengers Romantic Comedy [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1816012
Comments: 114
Kudos: 624
Collections: Thorki_of_mine





	Not Another Alien Green Card Marriage

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CoraRochester](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoraRochester/gifts).
  * Translation into 日本語 available: [Not Another Alien Green Card Marriage](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24804877) by [yo_translation](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yo_translation/pseuds/yo_translation)



> I had some things to say in the A/N, but I've since forgotten literally all of it. This fic is maybe the dumbest thing I have ever written, but also, arguably, the best. I hope it makes you laugh because I can't be the only one sitting here and cackling to myself. 
> 
> Deisderium had this tag to add: _two thots, both alike in dick-nity_. Thank you, and enjoy.

_or: How to Establish Earth Domiciliary in One Fake Marriage_

*

“Dearly beloved,” the tired-looking court magistrate said. “We are gathered here today to join this man and this, uh, Norse God in holy...matrimony.”

Next to him, the Norse God in question smiled. No, he _grinned_.

“Actually,” Thor interrupted. “I am Asgardian.”

There was a beat of slightly perplexed and definitely uncomfortable silence.

“Right,” the magistrate said. “My...mistake. We are gathered here today to join this man and this _Asgardian God_ in holy matrimony.”

“Hey, question,” his best friend and best man said, leaning close to his ear. “What the fuck are you doing?”

If but that Loki knew.

What he knew was this: that, one, he had been working, normally, as part of the data team at his very normal job on a very normal floor across from the very normal City Hall, when, two, New York City had nearly been invaded by aliens that he had absolutely nothing to do with, and, three, a very large and very eager and devastatingly loud blond had come crashing into the 14th floor through the wall of windows, taking out half of the cubicles, and most of the paperwork besides, and four, somehow between Loki _glaring_ at him for making him mess up in the middle of his data analysis and now, he had agreed to get fake married to one of the Avengers.

“What are _you_ doing?” Loki hissed at his best friend and best man.

Bucky Barnes cut a very dashing figure in his very nice sales rack Nordstrom suit, but that only meant that he was a well-dressed and very dashing disaster.

“What are you talking about?” Bucky asked, after a beat.

In front of them, apparently, Thor was beginning to argue with the magistrate.

“You know,” Loki said, leaning closer.

The two of them looked across from Bucky furtively. Well, not entirely furtively. It was a bit difficult to be furtive when the room at City Hall was about the size of two kitchens stacked side by side. Anyway, it’s not as though Captain America was being furtive, either. He was dressed in his suit—his gaudy red, white, and blue one, not even a nice suit from like, Macy’s—presumably because he was in between missions or whatever it was that the Avengers did in their off-time—and was shyly grinning at Bucky.

“No I don’t,” Bucky whispered, hurriedly.

“Him,” Loki said, emphatically. “Captain America. The First Avenger. What are you doing about _him_?”

Steve Rogers—Captain America, The First Avenger—waved across the narrow aisle of like four feet.

Bucky went a little pink around the edges, like he usually did when Steve Rogers—Captain America, The First Avenger—was involved.

“For the love of God,” Loki muttered, rolling his eyes.

“Excuse me,” the magistrate said, raising her voice. “Am I interrupting something?”

Loki and Bucky sprang away from one another, guiltily.

“As I was saying,” the magistrate’s voice droned, honestly a little bored. “We are gathered here today to join _this_ man and _this_ Asgardian God...Avenger...whatever, in holy matrimony. Does anyone object?”

Instantly, four pairs of eyes looked at Loki.

Loki, who had a headache building near his temples. Loki, who was holding a bouquet of flowers that Thor had given him, inexplicably. Loki, who had no idea what the fuck was happening anymore.

Loki sighed.

“No,” he said. “No one objects.”

Next to him, Thor beamed.

“All right then,” the magistrate intoned. “Repeat after me.”

  
If Loki was honest with himself—which he rarely was—and really examined the heart of the situation—which he was almost always reluctant to do—he supposed he had no one to blame but himself.

The problem, primarily, was that he could not keep his big mouth shut. The Chitauri invasion had not only ruined his work day, but it had ruined his commute home and, later, when he was trying to order dinner through Seamless, he found out that no places were delivering because the entirety of NYC was “reconstructing” after a “near-apocalyptic event” so he had to climb all the way down the six flights of stairs that led to his six story walk up, grab a mediocre bagel and a lukewarm container of yogurt from the corner bodega—which, of course, was still open, despite all of the death and destruction—and climb all the way back up the six flights of stairs and it was only then, after he had finally settled back onto his shitty couch in his shitty studio apartment, that he realized that the bodega owner had put _onions_ on his bagel, despite the fact that he very specifically asked for _no onions_. Anyway, that was all to say that the Chitauri invasion had _also_ ruined Loki’s dinner and the rest of his night, so when Bucky had suggested that they get drunk after work the next day, he had been only too keen to follow through.

They had gone to the dive bar three blocks over that smelled of old socks, but had exceptionally cheap beer on tap and had been two drinks and a plate of wings in when Loki had felt eyes boring into the back of his head.

“Uh,” Bucky had said, a chicken wing halfway to his mouth. “I think Thor is checking you out.”

Loki, who was wearing his usual dark green pants and a white, lightly striped button up that he had rolled up to his elbows, but, more importantly, was wearing the most sour expression on his face possible—on account of recounting to Bucky his travails from the night before—blinked at him slowly.

“Excuse me?”

“Thor,” Bucky said. “You know. The Avenger. Blond, tall, blue eyes. More muscles than brain. The hammer...thing.”

Loki did not believe in celebrity culture. Okay, that wasn’t entirely true. He believed in a very specific kind of celebrity culture. Essentially, Loki watched about five shows total and cared only for the celebrities of those five shows. If Thor was not on Survivor, Dancing with the Stars, Big Brother (UK), The Great British Bake Off, or The Real Housewives of Orange County, then Loki had very little recollection of who he might be.

Still, the whole Chitauri thing had happened exactly one day ago and Loki was sour on the whole affair, so not only did he remember Thor, he _remembered_ Thor.

“What do you want?” Loki turned in his seat, glaring and bitter. “You have a lot to answer for.”

Thor, who had, in fact, been approaching with a bright smile on his face, stopped in his tracks.

“Who, me?”

“Yes you,” Loki said with a glare. “Do you know what you and your—companions—have done? Do you know the _night_ I had because of you?”

Thor blinked at Loki rapidly and it was only then that Loki noticed another, tall blond man standing next to him. Mostly because the tall, blond man leaned in close to Thor and said, “Hey man, what did you do?”

Loki’s temper flared.

“You! All of you!” he picked up his glass of beer and drained it. “What do you have to say for yourselves?”

Thor and his compatriot blinked.

Next to him, Loki became aware of someone frantically elbowing him. He frowned, feeling his side bruising.

“What?” Loki leaned over and hissed to Bucky.

“That’s Captain America!” Bucky whispered back, eyes wide and voice frantic. “Holy shit!”

“Yes?” Loki hissed again. “So what?”

“So what?” Bucky whispered. “What do you mean so what? Have you seen him? Do you have _eyes_?”

“Speak plainly, Barnes, I don’t have time for your theatrics,” Loki said, glaring at him.

Both he and Bucky looked up from their stools and over to the two Avengers, who smiled meekly at them and waved.

“He is. So. Hot,” Bucky nearly moaned.

Loki glared at him and then at the ceiling above them—which was dark and, strangely, covered in bras—and then across at the two big, blond, beefy morons.

“Unbelievable,” he said. “The nerve! The audacity!”

Thor gave him an uncertain smile, which turned into a confident grin which, to be clear, was completely unearned.

“You were on the floor yesterday,” he said cheerfully. “In the building I crashed into.”

“Are you trying to tell me you only crashed into the one?” Loki asked, bearing his teeth.

“Well no,” Thor said, smile flickering before it reappeared full force. “The one with the beige walls. And the beige squares. And the beige flooring, as well!”

“That does sound like our floor, to be fair,” Bucky muttered to Loki.

Loki swatted his best friend away.

“What about it?” Loki glared again.

“You helped me,” Thor said. “You did me a great service. Without you I would not have oriented myself nor been able to use Mjolnir to fly in the right direction. It would have been most disastrous.”

“You gave him directions?” Bucky leaned over, whispering again.

“He seemed _lost_ ,” Loki hissed back at him. Then he spoke louder for Thor. “Well. You’re welcome.”

“I owe you a great debt,” Thor said and suddenly, the big, blond oaf was on his knees in front of Loki, his enormous hammer on the ground, his overly large hand on top of the handle.

Loki blinked rapidly. Bucky watched the proceedings while finishing his chicken wing.

Captain America seemed...unperturbed.

“That’s really...okay,” Loki said.

“I swear it,” Thor said.

“No, really,” Loki said.

“On my life,” Thor said.

“Please,” Loki replied, pained.

“On my valor, as Prince of Asgard,” Thor said louder, his voice ringing through the tiny, shitty bar.

Loki sighed, one of those sighs that came from deep in his gut and floated through every last inch of his body.

“I will repay you greatly—” Thor looked up expectantly and although Loki glared at him further, he couldn’t stop the one wild card in this scenario from acting, which was to say that although Loki was content to ignore this crazy alien’s declaration, his _best friend_ was not.

“Loki,” Bucky said, brightly. “His name is Loki Laufeyson.”

“Son of Laufey!” Thor cried. “A fine name, I am sure.”

“That’s not—” Loki tried, but Thor’s eyes were shining with pride.

“I pledge my hammer to you, Loki, son of Laufey.”

“Really, that’s not how names work here,” Loki said with a sigh, but it fell on deaf ears.

“Come on Thor,” Steve Rogers said, shifting next to him. “Fury’s waiting for us.”

Thor got to his feet, the leather handle of his hammer wrapped around his wrist.

“Until next time, son of Laufey,” Thor said. “You have my word.”

Loki could feel the migraine threaten to spill from his temples.

“I’m Bucky by the way!” Bucky said loudly, over Loki’s shoulder. He smiled brightly, charmingly, eyeing Captain America.

Captain America tinged pink.

Oh for heaven’s sake.

The two Avengers took their leave of the bar and of Loki and Bucky. It took a full minute for the bar to resume its constant, low thrum of chatter.

Bucky picked up another chicken wing.

“Hey,” he said. “I think Thor has a crush on you.”

Loki scowled at him, he scowled at the plate of wings, and he scowled at the mug of cheap beer, which, honestly, tasted like the essence of sock.

“I need to get drunk,” he said.

“Sure, pal,” Bucky said, next to him. “Just don’t forget we have work tomorrow.”

  
So anyway, that was how it had started. Loki hadn’t immediately told Thor that he _wasn’t_ interested—that he had a very particular life and a very particular schedule, and jacked superheroes were a part of neither—and although he hadn’t realized at the time that that would come back to haunt him in a very specific manner in the future, it turned out that he was at the center of at least three overarching, cosmic jokes.

Well, that was part of it anyway.

The other part was that he had gone out with Bucky again, two months later, and gotten so drunk he had let his lizard brain take over. So when Thor and Captain America had shown up _again_ and Thor had been dressed in those tight pants and a sleeveless shirt that seemed sculpted to the approximately 500 abs he had, to say nothing of his long, glistening golden hair, and to speak, of course, not at all about how long it had been since Loki had gotten laid and how he had a preference for blonds _anyway_ —well, Loki had been so busy literally undressing Thor with his eyes that he didn’t realize what he was saying to him.

What he means is that when he and Bucky—who was also drunkenly staring at Steve Rogers with hearts in his eyes—overheard Thor lamenting to Captain America about how he was stranded on “Midgard” because the “Bifrost” had been “destroyed” and how “SHIELD” would not allow him to continue “working as an Avenger” if he did not gain some sort of “Midgardian residency requirement,” Loki had sauntered over to the table, turned the chair around, and sat down on it, leaning the back of the chair against the table as he tilted forward.

“Loki, son of Laufey!” Thor had said loudly, frown turning to something brighter and happier.

“Ugh,” Loki said. “Put that away.”

Next to him, Bucky joined with a glass of beer and a tentative smile at Steve Rogers.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi, Bucky,” Captain America dimpled.

“Ugh,” Loki repeated. “Anyway, you’re overthinking this. What you need is to find someone to marry.”

“Marry?” Thor frowned. “Why would a marriage help, son of Laufey?”

“Loki,” Loki said. “My name is Loki.”

“Loki,” Thor repeated, beaming.

“Gross. Anyway, if you’re an—alien,” he said, waving his hand at the word. The correct term, as the Immigration Counsel on their floor had advised everyone was _undocumented immigrant_ , but first of all, Loki was drunk, and second of all, he kind of didn’t care, and third of all, he did literally mean alien this time. “And you need to establish...residency. Here. In this country. I suppose on this planet. Then you need to get _married_.”

Thor looked at Captain America quizzically.

“He’s not wrong,” Steve Rogers said. “I think. I’m not sure about the planet part of it.”

“Of course I’m not wrong,” Loki scowled at him. “Why would I make this up?”

“Okay,” Thor said, nodding his head slowly. “I suppose that makes sense. In other realms, marriage is a way of unifying two different kingdoms, so in a manner, marrying someone of Midgard would help unify me with the customs and laws of Midgard.”

“Sure, yes, whatever,” Loki said, waving his hand again. He looked at a glass of clear liquor in front of Captain America. “Are you going to finish that?”

Steve Rogers gave him a bemused smile and pushed the glass over to him.

“Thank you,” Loki said and drained it, ignoring how disgusting it was and how much it burned his throat and brain.

What came next Loki should have foreseen. Truthfully, he could have foreseen it, if he had had the foresight to foresee it. That was to say, maybe if he had been a little less drunk and a little less openly ogling Thor’s enormous biceps, he would have thought the whole thing through a little more carefully.

Because when Thor stared into his eyes with his intense, bright, blue ones, and asked, “Will you marry me then, Loki, son of Laufey?” Loki was drunk and a little bored and Thor was exceptionally hot, so he shrugged.

“I guess,” he said.

Next to him, Bucky grinned at Steve.

“Hey,” he said. “I like your suit.”

Loki and Thor drank to their impending marriage and Steve told Bucky that he liked his hair and then they all drank some more and that was why, a whole two weeks later, Loki found himself standing in City Hall, in front of a court magistrate, marrying an Avenger he had known for the length of one alien invasion, one happy hour special, and however many shots they had all taken that one night.

*

“Is that a wedding band?” Wanda asked him.

The data team sat in a small, cramped room with two rows of computers that were tucked side by side. The room had previously been a part of the library, which the City Council had so graciously lopped off to house the team so that they weren’t forever banished to the annex, where they had previously been so isolated that once, when the entire floor had been let out early for a holiday weekend, no one had thought to tell any of them.

Wanda sat at the computer next to Loki and had for the past four months. On his right sat a veritable child by the name of Peter Parker, who Loki found so annoying he had tried to lock him out of his computer multiple times by changing the password when Parker went to the bathroom, and had actually succeeded in doing at least twice.

Anyway, Wanda wasn’t too bad, except that she was now staring at Loki’s left hand.

“It’s a long story,” he muttered.

“Are you married?” Wanda asked.

Loki paused.

“I suppose,” he said.

“Is it to a man or woman?” Wanda asked.

“Man,” Loki said.

“When did you get married?” Wanda asked.

“Yesterday,” Loki said.

“See? That was not a long story at all,” Wanda said, pleased. She patted his shoulder and returned to her Excel spreadsheet. “Congratulations.”

Loki blinked at her and then blinked at his ring. He blinked at the computer in front of him. Next to his keyboard, his phone went off.

> **Barnes:** cake in the kitchen!

Next to him, Parker returned from the bathroom. He sat down at his computer, clicked his mouse, and then tried to log in.

After a moment, Loki heard a whine.

“Aw man! Not again!”

Three times.

Loki sighed and put his earbuds in and opened the Open Data Portal. Then, reconsidering, he minimized the window and locked his computer.

He had just gotten married to a literal Avenger for some absurd alien green card scheme. He deserved cake after that, he figured.

  
The thing was, it was nearly impossible to get up to the 14th floor without some kind of aid. There was security in the lobby downstairs and there were turnstiles to get into the building. Then there was the elevator up to the 14th floor and two more sets of doors that required valid identification in order to scan and pass through.

So it made no sense whatsoever that Loki and Bucky, who were sitting in the library conference room making faces at one another as Loki’s boss gave a dry and frankly borderline insulting presentation that oversimplified what the data team goddamn did, saw what they saw in the glass panes of the conference room door. (Bucky, who was a policy analyst, had nothing to do with data and frequently told Loki that he neither understood data nor cared to understand data and that, as far as he was concerned, Loki and the data team spent most of the day drawing hearts in textbooks that talked about statistical regression. Loki could neither confirm nor deny such allegations, except when his boss was speaking and then he spent the meeting wondering what he could possibly do to get all of them fired, simultaneously and together.)

Loki’s boss was in the middle of explaining something about data and maps and Loki was in the middle of mentally photoshopping his boss’s face onto the body of a bloated beluga whale for exactly no reason other than he was bored and he hated him, when Bucky suddenly jabbed him in the side again.

Loki let out a little _oof_ and was about to jab Bucky back when Bucky jerked his head toward the glass door. It became clear, only then, that everyone in the meeting had stopped paying attention to Loki’s boss and was more or less ogling the two blond faces smashed into the glass.

“ _Is that Captain America?_?” Wanda whispered next to Loki.

“ _Is that Thor?_ ” Peter Parker whispered somewhere behind him.

Loki felt the distinct need to reach over and knock the notepad out of the kid’s hands just out of sheer irritation, but he was luckily—or unluckily—distracted by the commotion outside becoming even more frantic.

Both Thor and Steve were grinning wildly outside of the glass, Steve waving and Thor squashing his face into the pane and trying to mouth something that Loki, of course, could not understand _because the idiot’s face was smashed to the glass._

Loki felt a wave of exhaustion and irritation so deep, so complete, that it was a near perfect moment of wondering what he had done, and in what life, to have allowed his baser instincts to make decisions for him in this one.

That was to say that Steve had finally pulled Thor back from the glass and Thor was now pointing to the gold band on his left hand then pointing at Loki, presumably also at the gold band on his left hand.

“ _Loki_ ,” Thor mouthed through the glass. “ _It’s me. Thor. Your husband._ ”

He didn’t say it out loud. That was a small miracle that Loki had not thought to ask for. Not everyone could read lips. There was a very large and distinct possibility that none of his colleagues had seen what Thor had said and, what was more, that even if they had seen, they would not have understood what he was saying.

Which was why, it was much to Loki’s severe displeasure, and incredibly fast building migraine, that Wanda said out loud, “ _Loki._ You married _Thor_?”

  
Well that was the end of _that_ meeting. It had all devolved rather quickly after everyone had stopped and gaped at him and some had started shrieking, in a low decible kind of way, and Peter Parker had started asking _too many fucking questions_ , so Loki grabbed Bucky’s wrist and dragged him out of the room.

“ _You two. Come with me_ ,” he said, glaring at both Thor and Steve and then he nearly frog marched all three of them down the hall and into the empty room that they sometimes used as the fake breast feeding room when the press came up to inspect whether the governmental body responsible for legislating things like mandatory breastfeeding rooms was, you know, complying with their own regulations.

  
Loki closed the door behind them. He whirled around and found Bucky moving a fake potted plant and sitting on the tiny table underneath. He looked amused at the whole affair but mostly he looked as though he was going to pretend to faint into Captain America’s arms if he didn’t spare him at least one look in the next thirty seconds.

Loki was surrounded by exceptional idiots.

“What,” he said, pointing at Thor. “Are you doing here.”

“I thought I would come to support my beloved,” Thor said, beaming.

Loki choked on air and the sound of his own incredulity.

“I’m not—” he said, waving a finger. “We’re not—!”

“Nonsense,” Thor said, kindly. “We are married.”

“We’re _married_ because I got drunk and you’re an alien who needs a green card,” Loki said, staring at Thor’s stupidly blond head.

“There are many ways to love someone, Loki,” Thor said, smiling. “And many ways to express such a love.”

“ _We don’t even know each other!_ ” Loki spluttered.

“I love Captain America and I don’t even know him,” Bucky said, from his place on the table. On the other side of Thor, Steve took in a breath, turning a dazzling pink. Bucky grinned at him. “Conceptually, I mean. Everyone loves Captain America.”

“Right,” Steve definitely squeaked.

Loki rubbed his temples.

“Why are you here?” Loki asked. This time he glared at Steve too. “Why are both of you here! At our place of work!”

“Ahem,” Steve said and crossed his large, beefy arms across his large, beefy chest. He wasn’t wearing his suit this time, but he looked enormous regardless, like an enormous beefsteak, except he was wearing some sweater that made him look like a soft, enormous beefsteak and his eyelashes were halfway down to his cheekbones and his blond hair was combed over, and he had the slightest tinge of pink to him—all of which Loki only noticed because if Bucky was staring at him any more like he wanted to personally experience what red, white, and blue might taste like, Loki would have to wipe the drool off of his face and then Loki would have to kill him and find another best friend.

“Yes?” Loki pivoted his attention to the second dumbest blond in the room.

“Thor needed help,” he said. “With a task.”

“A task,” Loki said. He pivoted back to Thor. “What. Task.”

“My beloved,” Thor said, grinning so widely his face looks stupid with it. “I need your assistance filling out my certification for green citizenship.”

“What,” Loki said.

“My forms,” Thor said. “For green admittance.”

“What,” Loki repeated.

“The inquiry, my sweetheart,” Thor said. “For entrance as a green being.”

“Don’t call me that,” Loki snapped. Then he sighed. “Your green card application. You need help filling out your green card application.”

“See!” Thor beamed again. “You understand me as no one else does.”

“So the suit,” Bucky said to Steve. “How often do you wear it?”

“Oh, usually when I go on missions,” Steve said, tinging pink again. “You...like it?”

Bucky grinned. “It’s growing on me.”

“ _Good grief_ ,” Loki said, loudly. He opened the door behind him and stomped out of the fake breast feeding room, leaving behind his stupid best friend and two Avengers who couldn’t leave well enough alone.

*

Loki didn’t make it a habit to spend more time in midtown than was absolutely necessary for him. That necessity fell somewhere between whatever Broadway show Bucky had managed to win them tickets for—on the occasion that he managed to do anything useful for either of them at all—and whenever Loki felt the distinct and pressing need to eat Korean barbecue.

He had neither cheap Broadway tickets nor a burning desire for barbecued meats today, which meant that it made no sense that he would take the W up to Midtown Manhattan after work when he would rather die instead. But the fact was that he had, indeed, taken the W up to Midtown Manhattan and that, furthermore, he had had no real choice in the matter because it was the only way that Thor had agreed to _finally_ leave his place of employment.

It had taken Loki nearly the rest of the day to get everyone to stop harassing him about his “Real Marriage to a Real Avenger” and by the end of it, so many people had talked to him so many times and Bucky had snickered at his plight for so long that Loki nearly wished the Chitauri had taken out the building altogether.

Anyway, now he was standing in front of the hideous skyscraper homage to Tony Stark’s overinflated ego, tempered only by the A he had decided to tack onto the front of the building at the last minute instead of the TS or the STARK that he was undoubtedly dying to do instead.

If Loki met Tony Stark inside while on this unnecessary trip that he, frankly, had been coerced into taking, he was going to kill Thor. Or at least cause the Asgardian as much irritation as he had caused Loki.

His phone rang as he was holding it.

“I’m busy,” Loki said, without looking at the caller ID.

“Hey,” Bucky said, over the phone. “You go in yet?”

“No,” Loki said.

“You waiting outside of the building, fuming?”

“Yeah,” Loki said.

“Can you get me Captain America’s number?” Bucky asked.

“Goodbye,” Loki said and ended the call.

Loki walked into the lobby and there was some woman with dark hair and very large lips, looking half-bored and half like she was spending her time reading the latest TMZ headlines.

“I literally cannot believe Katy Perry and Orlando Bloom are still together,” the woman said, blowing a bubble. “Like, who would have thought, you know? Legolas? With _Katy Perry_?”

“Uh huh,” Loki said. “Dire. I thought he was gay. Anyway, I’m here to see Thor.”

“What’s your name?” the woman asked and Loki leaned forward to see the nametag on her blouse now—Darcy.

“Loki,” Loki said. “Loki Laufeyson.”

“That’s a real name?” the woman asked, raising an eyebrow and looking something up on her computer.

“Are you a Jane Austen character?” Loki asked in response.

“You don’t know that I’m not,” Darcy said. “Oh okay yeah. Thor’s expecting you. Why’s Thor expecting you?”

“Because he is needy and I’m an idiot,” Loki said.

“Look into the camera,” Darcy said, tapping the long neck of the round camera sitting on top of the desk.

Loki did not glare, but he looked as unimpressed as possible.

“Yeah, that’s a keeper,” Darcy said and printed out a temporary pass on a white sticker. “Take the elevator up to the eighteenth floor.”

“Thank you,” Loki said and took the sticker from her.

“Okay, but did you really think he was gay!” Darcy called to Loki as he tried to take his leave of her.

“Thor?” he asked, confused.

Darcy gave him a look.

“What? No, who cares about him? _Orlando Bloom_.”

“I’m going to be honest,” Loki said, giving her a brief, wide smile. “I don’t know who that is.”

He swiped the sticker over the scanner and stepped through the turnstiles toward the elevator bank.

  
The elevator ride was short and uneventful, if Loki ignored the fact that his elevator was talking to him.

“Ah, Mr. Laufeyson. Mr. Odinson is anxiously awaiting your arrival.”

“I’m sure he is,” Loki muttered, then straightened. “Uh. Who are you and why are you talking to me?”

“Ah, my apologies,” the elevator said. “My name is JARVIS and I am the artificial intelligence that maintains Avengers Tower. I also work with and on behalf of Mr. Stark.”

“Artificial intelligence elevators, got it,” Loki said. He couldn’t help think about his six story walk up that barely had a functional air conditioner in his tiny studio or how the men’s bathroom was down to one urinal and one stall four out of five days a week at his place of employment. “Hey, where is Stark anyway?”

“Mr. Stark is on a business trip to Tokyo this week,” the elevator said. “Would you like me to send him a message for you?”

“No thanks,” Loki said. “He’ll be gone all week?”

“Yes, sir,” the elevator said.

“There’s no chance of him coming back early?” Loki asked.

“It would be unlikely, sir,” the elevator said.

“Can you warn me if and when that happens, elevator?” Loki said.

“My name is JARVIS, sir,” the elevator said. “But yes, I shall give you a five minute warning.”

“Thank you, elevator,” Loki said and the door opened to the eighteenth floor.

  
Even though Thor was going to absolutely be the death of Loki and even though this fake green card marriage was one of his top ten most stupid ideas—on a list of very many stupid ideas—Loki couldn’t exactly deny to himself that Thor Odinson, Norse myth and Asgardian prince God—or whatever he technically was—was smoking hot.

He was in tight jeans again and a red, velvet shirt that was sculpted to his obscene body and also open at the neck, and his golden hair was tied back and listen, Loki was exhausted, but he wasn’t stupid. He, like many gays before him, was perfectly capable of being ruled by his lizard brain.

Thor was bent over a large, white table near the kitchen, papers spread out all across the top, squinting as though he was just this moment learning how to read, and it kind of looked like it was hurting him, but the muscles in his back were rippling through velvet every time he leaned forward and Loki, standing next to the elevator, with his arms crossed at his chest, couldn’t help but admire the view.

Then the view spoke and ruined _everything_.

“Loki!” Thor lifted his beautiful, dumb face and cried. “You have made it!”

“Yes, I know how to use Google Maps,” Loki said, sighing and shaking himself off from the wall. “Also the building is enormous and gaudy. It’s not exactly easy to miss.”

“What is a Google Map?” Thor asked cautiously.

“Forget it,” Loki said. He sauntered toward the table and looked down at the mess. “What. Are you doing?”

“I am trying to fill out the paperwork for the green Midgardian allegiance,” Thor said. He blinked at Loki. “I told you earlier. Do you remember? I was at your place of work. Perhaps you did not recognize me.”

Loki stared at him.

“What do you mean I didn’t recognize you?” he said. “We talked. I dragged you into the closet.”

“Yes,” Thor said, agreeably. “I thought maybe you had forgotten.”

“That’s not what you sa—” Loki started and then realized it was all different shades of futile. He gave up before he started, which, to be fair, was not an unusual habit for him.

Loki’s phone rang and he pulled it out, looked at Bucky’s name, and then rejected the call.

“Are you filling these out by hand?” Loki said, pulling out a chair and sitting down with a loud _fwump_ next to his fake husband. “What, do they not have computers on Asgard?”

“We have very fine technology,” Thor said, by way of answer. He squinted at the pile of papers further and Loki rescued a stack before Thor slumped forward onto all of them with a loud groan, declaring, “This is impossible! I shall simply have to continue being an alien!”

“Well I don’t think changing your immigration status will help that,” Loki said. He looked at the forms that Thor—or someone else, probably—Captain America, if Loki had to take a guess—although Loki supposed the good Captain was rather old himself—so maybe someone normal and useless, like Hawkeye—had printed. The applications, in all fairness, were far too many and far too confusing. There were I-130 forms and I-485 forms, DS-260 forms, and a whole host of other things that required more things that, at the very least, wanted Thor (and Loki) to provide additional things.

“This is tiring,” Loki said. “I need a drink.”

That made Thor lift his head, expression suddenly less bleary and much brighter.

“Yes, of course!” he said, his deep voice booming. “You are wise as you are beautiful, son of—”

Loki glared at him.

“Loki!” Thor finished, with a slight squeak.

“Uh huh,” Loki said. “Get me alcohol and I will consider—” he looked over the form in front of him with no amount of disgust. “Providing proof of financial support. Ugh.”

“I have mounds of gold to my name on Asgard,” Thor said, getting up from the table. To his credit, he was very large and Loki liked what he saw. “There are vaults of diamonds and precious gems, sculptures in my likeness made out of the rarest metals in the Nine Realms.”

“Uh huh,” Loki said. “And can I access that through Bank of America or a Wells Fargo?”

Thor, mid-rapturous expression on his face, froze.

“I believe we have a Bank of Asgard,” Thor said.

“Typical,” Loki muttered. He looked up, staring the oversized Asgardian down with his cool, green eyes. “Alcohol! Now!”

Thor hurriedly went to procure alcohol for them, which was definitely going to be necessary, because as far as Loki could tell, the green card application forms were going to take them at least a few hours and, judging from the requirements, it was going to be more effort than it was worth to try and explain to Thor that he needed some physical documentation proof of his Asgardian god status.

He wondered if Thor had any Asgardian wine and if so, how strong that might be, and, also, if his fake husband would be open to harassing whatever poor, underpaid government employee happened to pick up the phone at US Citizenship and Immigration Services about whether the Travel Permit applied between different dimensions and how they planned on enforcing it if so.

*

“I will ruin his life,” Loki said, breaking a pencil in his grasp.

“You know, you sound like a comic book villain when you say things like that.”

Bucky wasn’t even on the data team, but he had taken to spending more than his fair share of time in the library conference room, where the data team had taken to meeting officially, when their ogre of a supervisor forced them to, and unofficially, when they were sick of the computer room and needed to complain about their unbearable, jackass of a boss.

Bucky was playing _Temple Run_ on his iPhone like it was the year fucking 2015 or something and Loki looked at him with irritation before shoving his arm, hard.

“Hey, motherfucker!” Bucky yelped as his hand slipped and his little temple running man went crashing over the side of the bridge. “I almost beat my old high score!”

“I do not _care_ ,” Loki said. He flicked one piece of the broken pencil at Bucky’s head, where it went bouncing off and then hit Scott Lang on the back of his head.

“What?” Scott jolted in his seat, where he was taking a nap that would only be considered inconspicuous in the land of the dead. “I’m awake! Maps! Data is a plural term, not singular! I’m running the program!”

Loki rubbed his temples aggressively.

“I mean listen, he’s not _great_ ,” Bucky said, straightening himself up in his chair. Bucky was good at what he did, but he was also lazy and since there was little to no real accountability in this stupid place, he spent not an insignifcant amount of time each week just sitting next to Loki, leaning back in the shitty rolling chair as far as it would recline, and harassing him.

“He is a monster,” Loki said, jabbing a finger at Bucky. Over from his seat, Scott looked over at the two of them, bleary and confused, which, to be fair, was simply how Scott’s face sometimes looked. “No, that is an insult to monsters. He is the kind of basement dwelling, sexless nerd who showers once a week and harasses women on Twitter using an account that only has that Twitter egg as a display picture and his idea of humor is to reply to every tweet with _why don’t you go and make me a sandwich, sweetheart?_ ”

“Wait,” Bucky blinked. “Is he actually harassing people here because that’s an HR violation.”

“He is harassing _me_!” Loki spluttered, flailing his arms artfully. “By existing!”

“Don’t mind him,” Wanda said. She crossed the library conference room with a fresh cup of coffee and sat down in one, elegant move on top of the long table. “He’s angry because he was told his analysis was wrong.”

“ _It was not wrong!_ ” Loki spluttered some more, turning red in the face and raising his voice. “ _I did the thing he asked me to do and then he decided what he asked me to do was not in fact the thing that he in fact asked me to do!_ ”

“There, there,” Wanda said, patting him on the head without any real empathy.

Loki seethed and Wanda offered him a box of Trader Joe’s off-brand Thin Mint cookies and Loki liked to watch his delicate hips, but he was just irate enough at his useless boss that he took not one, but _two_ and chomped on them angrily.

“Do you think Steve would take my last name if we got married?” Bucky asked after a minute of silent chomping.

“What,” Loki said.

Bucky was now hunched over a notepad, with a red pen, doodling something.

When Loki leaned over to get a better look, he found that the margins of the yellow paper were filled with: **MR. BUCKY BARNES-ROGERS** , **MR. CAPTAIN AMERICA BARNES** , **BUCKY <3 SGR**, along with some really terrible stick doodles with what ostensibly could or should or might be a shield.

“Oh my _god_ ,” Loki said loudly.

Bucky looked up at him, dreamily.

“I think I’m in love,” he said.

“I have got to get another job,” Loki said and let his head fall forward onto the table with a slightly loud _thwunk_.

“That’s the spirit, dear,” Wanda said and took another off-brand Thin Mint.

*

“Are you shitting me,” Loki said, staring.

Thor looked like he was about to cry, which was unbearable and borderline made Loki feel as though he was losing what was left of his mind. Because there he was, all however many pounds aliens weighed, muscles the size of hubcaps coming out of his eyeballs, but especially at his biceps, which were bare, on account of the activity that was currently making Thor look like he was about to cry.

“I am not good,” Thor said, “with needles.”

“Are you _shitting me_ ,” Loki repeated, louder.

“Don’t upset the patient, dear,” the woman preparing the vaccination said.

How Thor had gotten Loki to agree to this, he wasn’t entirely certain. There he had been, having a very well deserved glass of wine, _by himself_ , which was his ideal company for this ideal activity, after a very trying day of work dealing with missing and corrupt pieces of data and, most importantly, his garbage fire of a supervisor, when his phone had rung.

Loosened by, all right, his third glass of wine, Loki had answered without looking at the caller, so imagine his displeasure and surprise when Thor’s face had popped onto FaceTime.

“My beloved!” Thor boomed.

“Don’t call me that,” Loki said, with irritation.

“I cherish you more than the stars light,” Thor said, earnestly. “I treasure you more than the warmth the sun brings or the air that we breathe or the crests of the wave—”

“Can you get to the point?” Loki, wearily, took a drink.

“Ah, yes, sorry,” Thor said, sheepishly. “I need your assistance. If you would be so kind.”

Well Loki wasn’t _kind_ , but he _was_ stupid and exceptionally thirsty, so he negotiated with Thor—he would show up to his stupid vaccination appointment if he, Thor, sent Loki one shirtless selfie.

“What will you do with this selfie?” Thor asked, concerned.

“I have my uses,” Loki said, airily. Then, when it appeared Thor was warier than expected, Loki sighed. “To look at my husband every day and remind me of his….face.”

“And baring my chest will help you remember my face?” Thor asked, his face furrowed slightly.

Loki took a long sip of his wine, then smacked his lips together.

“Yup.”

“All right,” Thor said, beaming. “For you I will do this.”

So anyway, that was how Loki had ended up here, he supposed, although in his mind he had put up more of a fight.

He hadn’t expected, however, that accompanying Thor for the 27 different immunizations he needed for his green card application would mean he’d have to sit there and watch Thor squirm at the thought of a _shot_.

“You’re a God,” Loki said.

“I am,” Thor said.

“You’re...Asgardian, or whatever,” Loki stared.

“That is true, I am of the Aesir,” Thor smiled.

“You wield that magic hammer thing and fight aliens and get stabbed by daggers and zapped by things and probably Captain America has definitely used your head for shield throwing practice.” Loki was getting a little crazy eyes, probably, but he definitely had earned it.

“Only once,” Thor said and rubbed his forehead lightly.

“ _How can you be afraid of needles!_ ” Loki exclaimed.

“Will you hold my hand?” Thor said, looking at Loki sadly. “Please?”

Loki looked at the nurse, begging her to help him, but she shrugged.

“You can do that,” she said. “As long as it’s the other hand. And you don’t move him.”

“Ugh,” Loki said.

But Thor was still looking at him with those horrible baby blue eyes and Loki had zoomed in on his abs like two dozen times after Thor had sent him the selfie, so he guess he owed him.

Loki sighed and shifted over next to Thor. Thor smiled up at him, which was a bit like if a golden retriever and the sun merged into one entity and was blasting Loki’s eyeballs with the full strength of their brightness. He hated every second of it. Thor offered his hand and Loki took it.

It was warmer than expected and, if Loki was going to be honest with himself—which he tried never to be—their hands slid together neatly, almost as though they were the perfect offset of each other—one broad and rough, one narrow and smooth.

“Thank you,” Thor said, softer this time.

“Whatever,” Loki said.

“All right, just take a deep breath,” the nurse said, “and—”

Thor shouted loudly and Loki groaned in embarrassment while feeling like Thor was trying to break his hand in half.

“Worst. Marriage. Ever,” Loki said and then, unfortunately, they had to do it all over again for the next shot.

*

“Do you see that?” Bucky asked.

Loki stopped in the middle of the street, single eye twitching.

“That sucks,” Bucky commented, sympathetically.

The sympathy did not help. It had taken Loki three years and four horrendous roommates to find a studio in a crappy pre-war apartment building that he could afford on the Lower East Side and _now_ —

“Like, it could have been any other building,” Bucky said. Unrelated, he sipped on his juice box. Why the fuck a grown man was drinking a juice box after a full day of work, Loki was not certain, but the time to ponder that had been thirty minutes before, when the other man had dragged him into a Duane Reade and proceeded to buy a juice box.

Loki digressed.

Loki was too busy staring at what used to be his block in the one cheap street left in Alphabet City. Loki was going to have a fucking aneurysm because the goddamned fucking Avengers _cannot_ stop ruining his life.

“Loki!” he heard a familiar voice gasp out. Gritting his teeth, Loki whirled on his feet.

Thor had barely landed, his magnificent red cape still billowing behind him and his _stupid_ hammer in hand, before Loki was furiously jabbing a finger into the Norse God’s ample chest.

“What have you done?” he demanded.

“My beloved,” Thor began, trying to catch his breath, but he cowered under the force of the glare that Loki was giving him. He hastily changed the subject. “We had a fight.”

“A fight,” Loki said, slowly, dangerously evil.

“Yes,” Thor replied. He tried to give a sunny smile, but it thinned into a grimace once it was clear that Loki’s ears were about two wrong sentences away from steaming. “There was a very large praying mantis. We believe it hailed from another dimension and was growing larger by eating your, ah, subway rats.”

Loki was momentarily distracted by that knowledge, his face crumpling in horror.

“Hey,” Bucky said next to him. “That’s _disgusting_.”

He slurped his juice box loudly.

“About how many rats?” he followed up.

Loki felt a migraine begin to pulse at his temples.

Behind Thor there was another wailing sound and Loki glanced up to see a large, green streak hurtle across the Manhattan skyline and crash into another prewar building.

Loki’s eyes bugged out.

“ _Did you not defeat it?_ ”

“Oh,” Thor said, a little self consciously. He scratched his jaw. “No, the battle still wages.”

“ _I’m going to have an aneurysm!_ ” Loki bellowed.

“Hey,” Bucky said to Thor. “Where’s Cap?”

“The Captain?” Thor turned his attention to Bucky. He looked over his shoulder in contemplation. “Oh he must be in the thick of the battle. This was his mission to lead.”

“Which suit was he wearing?” Bucky asked, urgently, and Thor looked taken aback.

“I believe he calls it his stealth suit,” he said. “It is very dark.”

“Oh,” Bucky said, dreamily. “That’s hot.”

“What am I going to do about this?” Loki interrupted his idiot best friend and his even bigger idiot fake husband.

Thor and Bucky turned toward where Loki was gesturing widely at the wreckage that used to be his apartment building.

“I can’t afford anywhere else on a government salary!” Loki glared at the space as though his apartment would materialize if he stared angrily enough. As a matter of physics, it did not. This made Loki’s mood sour further.

“There is space at the Tower,” Thor said, in his deep rumbly voice.

Loki turned slowly on his feet, just pivoted to face the overly large, giant, God of Fertility.

“Excuse me?”

“The Tower!” Thor said, brightening. “Avengers Tower. Stark has given me my own floor and there is plenty of room.”

Loki stared at him.

“You have been there once,” Thor said. “Do you not remember?”

Loki’s eyes narrowed.

“You could occupy the space with me,” Thor explained eagerly. “My bed is very large.”

Loki’s eyes nearly popped out of his head.

“Are you asking me to move in with you?”

“Yes!” Thor nodded.

“To Avengers Tower,” Loki said. “Where you live.”

“Precisely!” Thor looked relieved, as though he had expected Loki to be confused about the whole affair.

“And are you telling me,” Loki said, a vein throbbing near his temple, “that in your large, Tony Stark apartment, you only have one bed?”

Thor tried to stroke his beard, but found his face blocked by his big, dumb hammer.

“Yes, I suppose that is true.”

Loki made a strangled sort of noise in his throat while next to him, his traitorous best friend let out a loud cackle.

“I read a fanfiction like this once,” Bucky grinned, juice box forgotten.

“No!” Loki shouted. “Absolutely not!”

“Why not?” Thor pouted.

In the background, another resounding crash and three different sirens went up. There was the heat of fire and a man in a bright red tin suit, who had been flying around and zapping shit out of his hand, got clobbered by what Loki could now recognize as an exceptionally, unconscionably large praying mantis.

“I don’t have time for this!” Loki said. “You do not have time for this. Don’t you have a job to be doing?”

A careening crash resulted behind them and the three of them spun to see someone picking himself out of the remnants of what used to be a bodega.

“Thor,” a familiar voice panted. “A little help here, bud?”

“Oh,” Bucky was suddenly rapt, all attention to the blond in the dark navy suit with the bright white star on his chest.

“Ah, Captain,” Thor said. “My apologies. I got caught up in an urgent matter.”

“Something more urgent than—” there was an explosion behind them and Captain America winced.

“Goodbye Katz’s Delicatessen,” Bucky said, sadly. Then he turns to Cap and dimpled. “Hi, Steve.”

“What—oh,” Captain America said, eyes focusing on Bucky. Despite everything—despite the battle in the background, and the blood trickling down his forehead, despite, even, the large praying mantis screeching in all of their ears—Captain America, improbably, flushed a deep pink. “Hi, Bucky.”

Bucky beamed at him.

Loki rubbed his temples furiously.

“All right,” he barked out. “You two, go back to destroying Manhattan. You, I’m moving in with you.”

Bucky, who was making moony eyes at Steve, blinked rapidly and pointed at himself in question.

“Yes, you! Who else would I be talking to?”

“Not me?” Thor pouted some more.

“For the love of God,” Loki said.

“Fine,” Bucky sighed. “But you’ll have to tell my roommate.”

Loki hated Bucky’s roommate. Loki, of course, hated most people, so it was all the same to him, really.

“Alas, I must return to my mission, my dear one,” Thor said, clasping Loki’s hand and looking deep into his eyes with his absurd, piercing blue ones. “But I shall return for you, no matter the cost.”

“You really do not have to,” Loki said.

“May I kiss you goodbye?” Thor asked eagerly.

“No,” Loki said flatly.

Thor drooped a little, but then the praying mantis swooped down and grasped Captain America by the middle and started marching away and Thor, apparently, only then decided it was no longer time to linger.

He swung his hammer above his head and he flew away to go and rescue his friend.

“I hope the stealth suit doesn’t get damaged,” Bucky said, worried.

“I hate the Avengers,” Loki glowered.

Bucky hummed and then stuck out his hand toward Loki

“Juice box?” he asked.

“I hate you too,” Loki informed him and turned on his heels to go back the way they came from.

*

Loki and Bucky were eating sad, pathetic twin sandwiches at Bucky’s cubicle because heaven forbid the New York City municipal government put their employees in a building that had a common room or, at least, a real kitchen that wasn’t the color of dried 60 year old dry putty and the memory of asbestos. Bucky was in the middle of telling him how he had taken a BuzzFeed quiz that had said he was destined to become Captain America’s first husband or something, when a loud explosion and a cracking sound rent through the air.

Loki froze, sandwich halfway to his mouth.

“Did you hear that?” Bucky blinked.

“You mean the sound that shattered that wall of windows?” Loki asked dryly.

Bucky turned around in his seat, his eyes going wide.

“Shit!” he cursed, dropping his sandwich on his desk and hopping up. “Holy fuck!”

“I think my husband is having a bad day,” Loki said, getting up from his seat carefully and following Bucky to the window.

Outside of their 14th floor view, New York City Hall was burning. The trees around the building were cracked in half and the historic, capitol-looking dome and statue of Lady Liberty on top had been sliced in half and were now laying in pieces in the remains of the front steps. The marble building itself was smashed in from the side, the previously elegant rotunda laid bare for the sunny Manhattan sky, minus all of the debris it was currently buried under.

City Hall was, in a word, decimated and Council Members were running from the park, screaming and there was a level of chaos that had only last been seen during—well, the last time the Avengers fucked something up. On top of City Hall, if it helped, was some kind of radioactive, bright purple slug with a mouth as large as an airplane and what appeared to be four rows of razor-sharp teeth.

“That’s troubling,” Bucky said, fingers pressed to the one, cracked glass window remaining.

The siren was going off in their building, sure, but they were just as safe inside as they were outside and, anyway, New Yorkers had become more or less laissez faire about alien attacks and a group of unsupervised superheroes unintentionally wracking up property damage that not even Andrew Cuomo could feasibly subsidize.

That was to say that Loki and his coworkers watched the chaos outside not with boredom, but with the same sort of interest that they had watched the ticker tape parade when the U.S. Women’s Soccer Team had done a victory lap through the city.

“I do not like how many teeth it has,” Wanda said, taking up a spot in between Bucky and Loki. “That gives me the heeby jeebies.”

“Do you think work will be cancelled tomorrow?” Bucky asked, pressing his nose to the glass.

“They will probably make us use a personal day if we want off,” Wanda said wisely.

“There’s no way they can make us come in,” Bucky said, turning toward her. “That alien slug destroyed City Hall. They have to give us like, at least a week off.”

Loki scratched his nose and tilted his head.

“Honestly, I’m relieved,” he said.

Wanda and Bucky both gave him a puzzled look and he shrugged.

“I hate this job,” he said. In the distance, he saw a familiar figure in a red cape and a little hammer zooming through the air. “Remind me to thank Thor later. Finally, this marriage has a purpose.”

“It would have a purpose if you banged him,” Bucky pointed out.

“I can’t do that,” Loki said, turning away from the window.

“You can’t?” Wanda asked, a furrow between her eyebrows. “Why not?”

Loki brushed his hands on his slacks and tried to find the easiest way to explain his personal, moral, and actual dilemma. It’s like this, he would say, if he was being honest. You can’t just sleep with a man with that many muscles. It would be unethical. And impractical. And almost certainly immoral.

“He’s too hot,” he said instead, by way of explanation.

Wanda and Bucky stared at him, clearly waiting for a follow up. Loki did not provide one.

“And?” Wanda asked after a moment.

Loki did not have time to explain to either Wanda or Bucky how even beginning to think about having sex with someone who was like seven foot tall and 500 pounds of raw muscle and who could summon lightning if he got mad enough made Loki’s brain slowly leak out of his ear canals.

“If I have to tell you, you’ll never learn,” Loki said, vaguely, and, ignoring the way his friends’ eyes narrowed and their mouths opened for an immediate retort, walked away quickly.

*

After all was said and done and Manhattan was on fire yet again, what was a guy to do? Bucky told Loki he had scored invites to some exclusive house party and to be clear, Loki was no longer in college and alcohol didn’t sit as well with him as it once used to, but he was out an apartment, maybe out a job, and his fake husband hadn’t called him in like, a day.

So fuck it, he thought, and went to the party.

He made sure to dress as slutty as was appropriate for someone who had just tipped past his mid-20s, which was to say he was wearing a sheer, sleeveless crop top and eyeliner and it was definitely too cold to bare that much stomach, but also he didn’t care.

“Someone looks like he wants to get laid,” Bucky grinned, looking at him.

Loki looked at his best friend with a sour expression. As though Bucky wearing a leather jacket and skin tight leather pants wasn’t its own form of slutty.

“How much time did you spend on your hair?” Loki asked.

“Is that eyeliner?” Bucky shot back.

Loki glared at Bucky. Bucky smirked at Loki.

“We both need to get some action,” Loki said.

“That,” Bucky said and slung an arm around Loki’s shoulder, “is the heart of the matter. Or the dick of the matter. As it happens to be.”

Loki groaned, but also couldn’t help the half smile his mouth twisted into.

The dick of the matter indeed.

  
They got to the party in Murray Hill fashionably late. The whole thing was too close to midtown for Loki’s tastes, but someone was having a party in their penthouse apartment close to the East River and Loki wasn’t stupid enough to turn down free alcohol in a penthouse apartment close to the East River.

“Should we have dressed less slutty?” Loki asked, since everyone he was looking at had less skin showing than he did.

“We need people to know we are desperate,” Bucky said. “And that our standards are non-existent.”

He wished Bucky wouldn’t put it like that, but there was more than a certain truth to it, so Loki shrugged and dragged his friend to the bar.

A shot of whatever questionable mixture was in a very large punch bowl later, Loki was loose enough to accept a full cup of the mystery concoction.

“Thanks,” he said.

“Hey,” Bucky said, lifting his own cup to his mouth. “Is that your husband?”

“What?” Loki asked, head shooting up. He followed Bucky’s line of sight across the room and, sure enough, there was a devastatingly handsome head of shimmering blond hair attached to at least 200 metric tons of pure muscle and raw, sexual energy. “What the fuck.”

Thor towered above a tiny woman who barely came up to his sternum and who had a well-manicured hand on his disgustingly ample bicep.

“Is he flirting with that red head?” Bucky asked, taking a huge gulp of his fancy jungle juice. Then his eyebrows shot up. “ _Is that the Widow?_ ”

“ _What have you done?_ ” Loki hissed, grabbing Bucky by the leather clothed-arm. In retrospect, he should have asked where Bucky had gotten the invitations to this house party.

“I didn’t know he was going to be here!” Bucky hissed back as the two of them crouched close together, whispering behind their hands.

“Did you bring me to an Avengers house party?” Loki glared at his best friend.

“I don’t know!” his best friend answered. “Maybe!”

Loki hated Bucky and wished that there was a single other person in the entire city of New York he could tolerate. Unfortunately there wasn’t and even if there was, Bucky was the only one who came close to how shameless Loki could be. They were stuck together, two desperate thots with a need for dick.

“When you said you needed to get laid tonight, did you mean _by Steve Rogers_?” Loki stared into Bucky’s suddenly too-innocent blue eyes.

“Why would you say that?” Bucky said, voice high. “Do you see him? Is he here? Quick, do I look like I would definitely put out for an American legend?”

“I cannot stand you,” Loki informed him and the two of them straightened.

Across the room, Thor’s warm, rumbly laughter filled the space around him and the redhead. Loki hated it.

Now, he knew that the Black Widow could likely kill him through the power of a single thought, but that didn’t stop him from glowering at her and then chugging half of his juice.

“Okay,” he said through grit teeth at Bucky. “We’re fixing this.”

“This?” Bucky looked at his friend, perplexed. “What this?”

“ _This_ ,” Loki insisted, finished the rest of his drink, slammed it down on the nearest table, and dragged Bucky all the way across the room.

  
By the time they had fought through the crowd of people and reached Thor, the Widow had disappeared and he was leaning against the wall, talking to—

“Hi Steve,” Bucky said, doe-eyed and breathy.

“Oh,” Captain America said, looking up from Thor at the two of them, startled. It took him a moment, then his fair, lily-white cheeks flushed pink. He clearly took Bucky in—all of Bucky, extremely tight leather pants and all—and his crystal blue, golden American boy eyes widened. “Buck. Wow.”

“You,” Loki said loudly, ignoring his mess of a best friend and America’s favorite superhero, to jealously jab a finger into Thor’s chest.

“Loki!” Thor said, delighted as always. He also gave Loki a once over and if he looked pleased by the effort and the clearly pleasing stretch of smooth, pale skin on Loki’s flat stomach, Loki didn’t even _care_ , because he was closer to drunk than he was one cup and one shot of jungle juice ago and he was also _angry_ because nobody’s mouth was on his own and, specifically, his fake husband of a Norse God’s mouth was not on his own.

“Come with me,” Loki glared up at Thor. He grasped Thor by the neck of his thin, cotton, extremely fitted, black t-shirt and dragged him through the crowd of people and shoved him onto an empty couch.

Thor didn’t look perturbed. He didn’t even look confused. He looked delighted, in fact, when Loki shoved him back against the couch cushions and promptly sat on his very large lap.

“Loki?” Thor questioned.

“Let’s make out,” Loki declared and, grabbing Thor by the collar again, dragged his face onto his face.

Thor didn’t seem to mind at all, if the way his saucer hands holding firm onto Loki’s back was any indication. Thor’s hands roamed up and down the lean muscles of Loki and Loki, making a very pleased sound, stuck his tongue down Thor’s throat in response. This made Thor growl, which was a vibration Loki felt against his chest and the hot shower of sparks that slid down his spine was heady and very pleasant.

Thor’s hand slipped under Loki’s sorry excuse for a crop top and warm hands against hot skin was exactly why slutty clothing was invented.

Their mouths and tongues slid against each other for some time more and Loki found his perch on Thor’s lap and Thor’s iron grip around his middle to be exceptionally well worth whatever grief he was going to get later when Thor asked him to like, open a bank account or sign life insurance or go to the notary or whatever else the U.S. government needed from him.

  
Somewhere, back where he had left them, Captain America was still blushing, smiling sweetly at Bucky.

“I like your jacket,” Bucky said smoothly, like a smooth person, leaning smoothly against the wall and pressing a single hand smoothly to Steve’s leather jacket.

Steve’s smile widened, his eyes dark, his blond fringe flopping into his face.

“Thanks,” he said, his voice so low it rumbled into Bucky’s gut. He leaned closer and Bucky fluttered his eyelashes like he was trying to communicate to Steve through Morse code. “I like your—”

Bucky preened, hip jutting out, collarbone presented through the dangerously low neckline of a t-shirt so thin and so relaxed, you could practically see his chest through it. This was it, he thought. Captain America was finally going to admit how undeniably sexy Bucky Barnes was. He was going to be overcome with lust and then he was going to fall in love and then they’d get married and have babies and Bucky could retire from municipal mediocrity.

He fluttered his eyelashes some more.

“—hair,” Steve Rogers said.

Bucky blinked.

“What?”

“It’s very,” Steve said, mouth gaping, hands flailing, just a little, like a super fish out of the tepid, toxic waters of the Hudson River. “Nice.”

Bucky stared.

Steve flushed.

Bucky tilted his head, considering.

“You know what, I’ll take it,” he said. “Wanna make out?”

Steve’s eyes widened further, his breath catching. He nodded vigorously and Bucky grinned, licking his lips.

*

The U.S. government was hopelessly slow, but it helped when a secret defense arm of the federal government employing superheroes, Gods, and supersoldiers was your employer.

Loki was at a very expensive hair appointment that he certainly could not afford, but also absolutely could not live without when suddenly there was a rumble of thunder and a zap of lightning and a very large blond man with aggressively blue eyes and a stupid hammer was pressing his face to the glass of the salon.

Thor waved frantically at Loki from outside.

“Is that—?” his stylist, Marco, asked, trimming Loki’s dead ends.

“Yes,” Loki sighed.

“Do you know Thor?” Marco asked.

“Ugh,” Loki said. “He’s my husband.”

“Loki!” Loki could hear Thor’s voice booming through the glass. “I have received a letter in the mail!”

“Should you answer that?” Marco asked, evening Loki’s ends and straightening.

Loki sighed again.

“Well don’t just stand outside,” Loki called to Thor. “Do you not see I’m in the middle of something important?”

Thor managed to open the door and stumble inside, which Loki considered a win for the Avenger, because there was no real certainty he knew not to simply crash through the glass window.

“Loki,” Thor said, enthusiastically. “I have glorious news.”

“I doubt we have the same definition of the word, but go on,” Loki said.

“I have received a letter from the governmental service for citizenry!” Thor said, reaching into his outfit and pulling out a white envelope. “It bears the official emblem and words of encouragement to further pursue my quest to obtain residential status.”

Loki stared at him.

Thor smiled at him sunnily and shoved the letter at Loki.

“Oh,” Loki said, skimming the letter while Marco looked disapprovingly at the disruption to his work. “They gave you an interview.”

“An interview?” Thor asked, his smile diminishing, but only enough to remain just horribly distracting and not full out blinding. “What will they ask? I have never participated in an interview.”

“Very hard questions, I suspect,” Loki said drily and folded the letter back up. “You will need to study a lot. If you don’t pass, they will deport you immediately.”

“Deport me?” Thor said, his smile decreasing by another 5%. Now, he was merely smiling brightly, as opposed to beaming. “They cannot send me back to Asgard, on account of the bifrost. Where will they send me should I fail?”

“Oh I don’t know,” Loki said, seriously, eyeing himself in the mirror. “Somewhere terrible. And cold. Maybe Antarctica. You will have to wear sleeves.”

Thor looked sufficiently horrified at the prospect.

“How do you feel about bangs?” Loki asked Marco.

Marco looked at Loki’s reflection in the mirror, tilting his head in consideration.

“If you want to look like you belong in a mid-2000s boy band music video, I would encourage it.”

“No,” Thor said, loudly. “Loki, will you help me study so that I might pass the interview and remain here?”

“No,” Loki said. He frowned at Marco. “Not aggressive ones. Just ones that frame my face.”

“Loki, please,” Thor said.

“No,” Loki replied.

“Did I make myself unclear?” Marco said.

“Loki,” Thor interrupted, turning Loki in his chair toward him. He kneeled by his feet, startling Marco and making Loki groan inside. “Please. I have asked you many things, well beyond what a husband may ask his husband. You have done much for me already, my beloved. But I am come to you, as the Prince of Asgard, the wielder of Mjolnir, the future King of the Aesir, please, my sweet, I will beg if I must, I will prostrate myself before you, I will—”

“Please, for the love of Tan France, put him out of his misery,” Marco said. “And I will give you non-hideous bangs.”

Loki smirked and then sighed, covering Thor’s mouth with his hand as the giant blond opened it again to continue creating a scene.

“Fine. Fine! Be quiet and I will help you study for your interview.”

Thor’s smile returned to its previous wattage and Loki groaned, falling back into his chair dramatically.

“This is the worst thing that has ever happened to me,” Loki lamented, speaking specifically of Thor’s face.

“That’s because I haven’t given you bangs yet,” Marco said and, with a smile, turned him back toward the mirror.

  
The bangs were, admittedly, a mistake, not that Loki would ever tell Marco that. He hid them under a hat and got into the elevator at Avengers Tower two days later.

“Mr. Laufeyson,” the elevator said. “It is a pleasure to see you back.”

“I am here against my will,” Loki said. “I am being held hostage. Can you call the police?”

“No, sir,” the elevator said. “That is against protocol.”

“Typical,” Loki muttered.

“Mr. Odinson is eagerly awaiting your company,” the elevator said, into the silence. “He specifically requested your clearance be extended through the night, as you have much to cover.”

Loki didn’t have time for this. Loki had multiple episodes of The Bachelor that he still needed to watch so that he and Bucky could drunk call each other to discuss the developments in the cattiest manner possible.

“I have plans,” Loki said, loudly.

“Ah,” the elevator said. “I believe you will need to explain that to Mr. Odinson.”

Loki dragged a hand down his face.

“Never get married, elevator,” Loki said, much-aggrieved. “No matter how hot the guy is. Especially if he’s hot. Specifically if he’s a smoking hot Norse God with a 12 pack of abs.”

“Can humans have 12 abdomens, sir?” the elevator asked as they lurch up toward Thor’s floor.

“Humans can’t,” Loki said, darkly. “But Thor can.”

The door opened and Thor was sitting at his kitchen table in what amounted to a slutty tank top, his hair pulled back, and a brilliant, happy smile lighting up his face the moment he saw Loki.

“Loki!” Thor’s voice rang out, horribly fond, as always.

Loki groaned.

“Never get married,” he warned the elevator again and went to help Thor study.

*

They spent a handful of weeks trying to ram boring U.S. history facts and constitutional amendments into Thor’s beautiful, semi-flighty head and it was mostly a nightmare, but honestly not the worst use of Loki’s time. Thor had an unlimited tab with Postmates and learned to stock his fridge with the exact right kind of wine that Loki liked and some fruity cocktails that Loki insisted he required after a long day of work and an even longer day of looking at U.S. green card questions.

Thor was probably smarter than Loki gave him credit for, but then his beautiful little face would go blank as he turned his head to look out the window and comment on like, a fucking cloud or whatever, and when he tilted his head just so he looked like he’d never met a single thought in his life and that really did it for Loki, because more than once he’d shoved aside their note cards and climbed into Thor’s lap as a result.

Thor never once complained and Loki, for his part, complained a lot about Thor, but definitely not about how good he was at hornily making out.

*

Thor took his U.S. green card interview without too much fanfare.

The aliens were quiet that day and when he emerged from the building, bright-eyed and pleased, Loki was even, begrudgingly, waiting outside with a milkshake he’d only half-drank.

“How’d it go?” Loki asked.

“I believe I am the finest candidate for citizenship they have ever witnessed!” Thor beamed at him. “They remarked they have never heard such fine answers!”

Loki was pretty sure the questions in the interview were like, _Do you know who George Washington is?_ and _Have you ever committed a felony before?_ but he didn’t get a single moment to grouse or even ask how Thor got around admitting to the millions of dollars in property destruction he’s caused because of his day job before Thor was picking him up by the waist and twirling him around.

“Hey!” Loki squawked. “Milkshake! _Milkshake!_ ”

“They have said yes, Loki! I have been given their blessing!” Thor said, continuing to spin Loki with no regard for the milkshake or Loki’s $60 sweatshirt he’d bought at The Arctic Monkeys concert Bucky had dragged him to three years ago.

“What does that mean!” Loki said loudly. “Thor! Put me down!”

Thor did not.

Instead, he kissed Loki on the cheek, his beard scratching Loki’s smooth skin. Loki squirmed and Thor did it again and then he did it over and over again, until Loki’s skin was pink and he was giggling too.

“Fine!” Loki said through a fit of breathless giggles. “Fine! You’re welcome! _You’re welcome!_ Put me down, you oaf!”

“They have given me approval for a green card!” Thor said, laughing brightly and setting him down. Loki landed gently on his feet and Thor caressed his flushed cheeks with his large, warm palms, kissing him more gently on the lips. “I could not have done it without you. Thank you.”

Loki clutched the milkshake to his rapidly beating chest and ran his fingers through Thor’s scratchy beard.

He leaned up on his tiptoes and kissed him back.

*

On the day Thor received his green card, Loki was pretty much over it.

Not it, their marriage, or even, strangely, it, being Thor, but _it_ , that unquantifiable, undefinable, unknowable state of being.

Wanda said he had _malaise_.

Bucky said he’d been reading too many articles about how millennials were going to be working until they were dead because the Baby Boomers were sucking social security dry and the Republicans kept gutting social welfare programs like Medicare, Medicaid, and food stamps.

Peter said—well, Loki didn’t bother to listen to Peter. He leaned over and tipped his chair back until Peter toppled over with a loud squawk.

“I need a change,” Loki declared as his boss sent him another passive aggressive email about how his data set analysis was incorrect, even though Loki had literally done the exact thing that his boss had asked him to analyze in literally the email right before the passive aggressive one.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about your bangs…” Bucky said and Loki threw a stress ball at his face.

It bounced off Bucky’s head and his best friend scowled.

“Silence!” Loki declared. “I’m thinking!”

“That is concerning to me,” Wanda said, before turning back to her computer and returning to online shopping.

*

Later, Bucky bought Loki a taro milk bubble tea in a half-hearted and semi-successful attempt to get him to shut up about whatever was grinding his gears.

Suddenly, there was a crack of lightning through the sky and Thor landed in a crouch in front of Loki and Bucky, his red cape billowing out behind him, his arm bulging as he grasped Mjolnir to the ground.

“Well, damn,” Bucky said, sucking on his boba.

“Have you heard of the subway?” Loki asked, as though he wasn’t eyeing the way that Thor’s armor was absolutely sculpted to his muscles.

“Loki,” Thor said, straightening himself, with a smile.

“Thor,” Loki replied and unfortunately, and mortifyingly for him, it was fond.

“Hold on,” Bucky said, chewing on a tapioca ball. “When did this happen?”

Loki flapped a hand in Bucky’s face to shut him up.

“Can I help you?”

“I have received a postal missive,” Thor said. His voice rumbled through the air, both pleasant and warm.

“Is it your first one?” Bucky asked. “Proud of you, bud.”

“Shut up, Barnes!” Loki said and smashed his hand onto Bucky’s face. “And?”

“It is from the Department of Citizenship,” Thor said, shyly. He reached into a pocket in his cape and produced an envelope that was addressed from the _United States Citizenship and Immigration Services_.

Loki shoved his bubble tea at Bucky and reached for the envelope.

“This is it?” Loki asked. “Your green card?”

“I wished to share it with you first,” Thor said, smiling broadly. “As I could not have received it without your help and friendship.”

“And marriage,” Bucky offered, helpfully.

“Yes,” Thor said and his expression softened. “And that.”

Loki ignored it. He ignored Thor’s voice and Thor’s eyes and Thor’s face; he ignored the way Thor’s voice dipped when he spoke and the way he couldn’t seem to stop tracking Loki’s movements; he ignored all of it, because if he didn’t ignore it, he would have to acknowledge the soft flutter caught under his rib, or the way that his face felt too-warm, not because it was particularly warm outside, but because he could feel Thor watching him.

If Loki did not ignore the entire nonsense that was Thor, son of Odin, the prince of Asgard, Norse God, and Avenger, standing in front of him, red cape swelling behind him, golden hair glinting under the bright sunlight, blue eyes burning with something too dangerously close to fondness and certainly close to pride, then he would be forced to contend with certain realities, such as that this whole thing was built on quicksand. It was unsustainable for a sad, pathetic, lonely millennial who hated his job and hated working and hated most people, who thought sarcasm was a whole personality, was saddled with crushing student debt, and paid way too much in rent each month, to continue a relationship, let alone a marriage, with a man who was not only a _superhero_ but a _literal mythological being_. And royalty. For fuck’s sake.

At least, so he thought.

His heart plummeted into his stomach just seconds before Thor stepped forward and tilted Loki’s chin up with a finger.

“The bifrost is repaired, incidentally,” Thor said.

“The bifrost?” Loki asked.

“The rainbow bridge,” Thor said. “The passage between Midgard and Asgard. Between Asgard and the rest of the Nine Realms.”

Through Loki’s sluggish memory, he recalled something about this—the rainbow bridge and how it was broken and how Thor could not go home without it.

“If it’s fixed,” Loki said, depressedly, “then—”

“I am no longer confined here,” Thor agreed. “I am free to go.”

“Oh,” Loki said. He swallowed. He frowned. “That’s good.”

Thor said nothing to that, which only made Loki feel more depressed. He shifted on his feet.

“I guess you should probably get back then,” Loki said. “To Asgard. The kingdom. All that jazz.”

“I am the prince and future ruler,” Thor agreed. He paused. “However—”

Loki looked up at him.

“There are certain...requirements,” Thor said, his mouth twitching at the corner. “So that your government will not take this green card from me.”

Loki blinked.

“But you don’t need—”

“I have gone through all that work,” Thor said, emphatically. “I have let them _draw my blood_.”

Loki rolled his eyes, but, unfortunately, and mortifyingly for him, hope was beginning to bloom.

“I must return to Asgard,” Thor said. “But I must also return, to retain my status here. I was wondering, Loki—”

“Yes?” Loki said, definitely eager this time.

“I was wondering whether you would like to come with me,” Thor said, with a smile. “To Asgard. You are my husband, after all. It would be a shame for our marriage to be so short-lived.”

Now, Loki wasn’t an idiot.

Things like this didn’t just happen to him. He was a poor millennial with $300 to his name and a wardrobe full of slutty leather pants and even sluttier tank tops and he was good at a job he hated and he ate way more trans fats than his doctor would recommend and he never volunteered for charity and more than once he had told a performer on the subway to shut the hell up. He wasn’t the worst, but he wasn’t exactly the best. That was to say, Loki wouldn’t quite go to the bad place, but Maya Rudolph probably wouldn’t let him into the good place either.

So this sounded way too good to be true and Thor would almost certainly regret this offer immediately, which was why Loki would be a complete blockhead to refuse.

“Wait,” Bucky said, suddenly, interrupting them. “You can’t go to Asgard.”

“Why not?” Thor looked at him, confused.

“He has a job here,” Bucky pointed out. He shifted on his feet. He was holding two plastic cups of bubble tea. “And his stuff is here. His hair products. His—”

The last bit was a mutter that neither Loki nor Thor could make out.

“What was that?” Thor asked.

“His—” Bucky mumbled again, his mouth full of metaphorical marbles.

“I’m sorry,” Loki said, cheerfully. “I didn’t catch that.”

“Friends!” Bucky said loudly, crossly. He gave Loki the stink eye. “His friends!”

Understanding crossed Thor’s face, while smug glee crossed Loki’s.

“You’re going to miss me!” Loki said, gleefully.

“No,” Bucky said, sullenly.

“You are!” Loki grinned.

“NO,” Bucky repeated, emphatically, sucking petulantly on his boba.

“It will only be for some time,” Thor said to Bucky kindly. Bucky still didn’t look convinced, so Thor leaned toward him, setting a large palm on Bucky’s lean shoulder, and said, as though conspiratorially, “In the meantime, I shall need someone to look after my companion.”

“Your companion?” Bucky blinked.

“Yes, the Captain,” Thor said. “You see, he has spent much of the past few ages frozen inside a glacier and since being unfrozen, has barely acclimated to this century, and certainly not to its fashion standards.”

“He does wear a lot of khakis,” Bucky admitted slowly.

Thor beamed at him.

Maybe he wasn’t as much of an idiot as Loki thought he was. Loki was so fond. He hated it.

“Fine,” Bucky said finally and Loki was pretty sure his best friend was already busy mentally planning his wedding to Captain America. “But your job—?”

“Oh, that’s easy,” Loki said. “I quit.”

Bucky paused.

“Can you do that?”

“Why not?” Loki blinked.

“I mean,” Bucky said. “Is that allowed?”

Loki smirked and swiped his fringe away from his eyes.

“I’m a millennial, I don’t have a single asset, and I don’t even know what a 401K is. I’ve got nothing tying me to this dying planet,” he said.

Loki stepped toward Thor, wrapped an arm around his shoulder, and looked up at him.

“Let’s blow this popsicle stand!”

“I do not know what that means,” Thor said, pleasantly, looking down at him.

An unnamed feeling surged in Loki’s chest, just beneath his breastbone.

“Ugh,” he said. He leaned up and kissed Thor, smack on the mouth. “Fuck this place, let’s go to space.”

Thor managed to school his expression into something between utter fondness and extreme delight.

He leaned down and softly kissed Loki on the mouth.

“To Asgard, we go,” he said. Then tilted his head up. “Heimdall!”

There was a brief swirling around them and suddenly a bright beam of light engulfed the two of them.

Thor swung his big, dumb hammer around and lifted them into the air with a _swoosh_. Loki, heart beating in his ear drums, held tightly onto his husband’s shoulders and, to his utter delight, left this miserable planet behind.

“Come back by March, asshole!” Bucky called from the ground. “That’s my birthday!”

Loki didn’t quite hear him. Loki was already hurtling through space, Thor’s meatslab arms holding him tight.

*

**epilogue.**

“Ah,” said a deep, soothing voice next to him. “Young love.”

Bucky chucked one bubble tea over his shoulder and turned around, already fluttering his eyelashes.

“Hi, Steve.”

“Hi, Buck,” Steve said, with an amused smile.

“Your friend took my best friend to space,” Bucky said.

Steve tilted his head back and looked up at the blue-again sky.

“I was wondering if that was going to happen.”

“He didn’t even offer to take me,” Bucky said. “Which is a little inconsiderate.”

“Why, do you like space?” Steve turned back to him.

“Well I wouldn’t say no to a free trip there,” Bucky said. “The only plan I have this weekend is going to Trader Joe’s and buying three boxes of frozen dumplings.”

“Oh,” Steve said and he got that little wrinkle between his golden eyebrows he always did when he was trying to figure out the 21st century or like, if Bucky was being serious.

Bucky was always serious about food.

“They’re really good dumplings, Steve.”

He had a fridge full of frozen TJ dinners, a passing Minecraft addiction, a sizable collection of shirts so sheer it was like his chest hadn’t seen opacity since high school. He also had three notebooks filled with various detailed fantasies of what his life with Steve Rogers was going to be like in the future. Bucky Barnes was not going to miss his shot.

He hoped Steve was picking up what he was putting down, is what he’s saying.

Steve frowned just a little and then rubbed the back of his neck. He looked bashful, like he was one of the fucking seven dwarves, and when he looked up at Bucky again, his cheeks were stained pink.

God, Bucky was going to shove him against a brick wall and have his way with him.

“Would you, uh, like different plans?” he asked. He blushed deeper. “I can’t offer you space or anything, but—”

“Oh thank god,” Bucky said and really did shove Steve against the nearest brick wall. “Kiss me, America.”

Bucky didn’t have a Norse God for a husband and he didn’t have any way to get to space, but he did have good hair and killer legs, and, most importantly, he had Captain America’s hot mouth on his mouth and his tongue shoved down his throat and Steve’s obscenely, NSFW-rated hand was creeping up under his shirt and you know what? This was fine too.

This, also, was the millennial dream.

**Author's Note:**

> THANK YOU TO CORAROCHESTER AND ODETTEANDODILE for letting me send you snips and cackle raucously to myself for the past like three months. This fic is dedicated to you both, which is not something you asked for or even maybe what you wanted, but that's the burden of friendship.
> 
> If this fic made you chuckle, I would love to hear what parts made you laugh!!!! ♥ Then we can laugh together as opposed to me sitting here, laughing embarrassingly to myself. 
> 
> And as always, catch me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/spacerenegades) being fire sign as hell.
> 
> [ Rebloggable [on Tumblr](https://spacerenegades.tumblr.com/post/190702992248/not-another-alien-green-card-marriage) and RTable [on Twitter](https://twitter.com/spacerenegades/status/1225831979142217728?s=20) ]


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